


Before You Go

by voidknight



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bittersweet, Conversations, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Goodbyes, Love Confessions, M/M, Rated T for swearing, Sad and Happy, Walks In The Park, ed says fuck one too many times for this to be g rated, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidknight/pseuds/voidknight
Summary: In some ways, Ed feels like it would’ve been nicer if Ling had just run off the second he got his hands on a philosopher’s stone, like was his original plan. So much happened that day that Ed wouldn’t have had time to properly process it. And then Ling would be gone, and Ed would be saved the trouble of making an awkward goodbye.Unfortunately, Ling is the master of making Ed feel lots of things he doesn’t want to. So, as if by that token, he and his companions resolve to stay for a couple extra days.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Ling Yao
Comments: 21
Kudos: 114





	Before You Go

It feels as if Ed’s been in the hospital for  _ weeks, _ even though he knows it’s really only been a few days. He’s still got some healing to do, though the worst of it is over—the extraneous bolts are out of his shoulder and all his wounds have sealed, and he’s feeling… fine, all things considered. His mood tends to flip between  _ depressed _ and  _ ecstatic _ these days (mostly the latter), but at least the persistent stress is gone. At least he can relax.

The doctors say it’ll be another couple days until Al is back on his feet (quite literally), and though Ed is itching to go—get back to Winry’s house and tell her all the good news and stuff his face with pie—he understands the necessity of giving his brother time to recuperate. Getting one’s body back is a hell of a process, though Al has been in very good spirits. Ed’s not surprised it’s been going slowly.

What  _ does _ surprise him, though, is how long their visitors from Xing have stuck around.

In some ways, Ed feels like it would’ve been nicer if Ling had just run off the second he got his hands on a philosopher’s stone, like was his original plan. So much happened that day that Ed wouldn’t have had time to properly process it. And then Ling would be gone, and Ed would be saved the trouble of making an awkward goodbye.

Unfortunately, Ling is the master of making Ed feel lots of things he doesn’t want to. So, as if by that token, he and his companions resolve to stay for a couple extra days.

In the first few days of Ed’s recovery, Ling and Lan Fan are nowhere to be seen, while Mei visits a couple times to support Al. Ed’s pretty dazed, so he doesn’t really make the connection that  _ actually, no one’s gone back to Xing yet _ until Ling just barges into his hospital room one day and mentions idly that well, he and Lan Fan gave Fu a proper burial yesterday, and now that that’s done they’ll be leaving for their homeland the day after tomorrow, and  _ please do be sure to drop by and see us off if you’re feeling well enough, Ed! _

To which Ed’s response is a bit of mild panic.

So they talk a little and Ed forces out some trite “goodbye”s and “couldn’t have done it without you”s and tries to ignore the way that his heart is beating very very fast. It’s slowly dawning on him that this is really the end, isn’t it? Ling’s  _ going. _ He’s going to leave, and at some point he’s going to go become the emperor, and nothing’s ever going to be the same again. And this dreadful feeling builds and builds inside of him until Ling gives a final wave and turns around, and Ed stammers at his retreating back— “Do—do you want to come by tomorrow evening? So we can… hang out a bit before you go?”

Ling blinks, and something like  _ relief _ flits across his face before he smiles warmly and says, “Yeah! I’d love that.”

Which, honestly, leaves Ed even more panicked than before. Because how is he supposed to encapsulate the culmination of his entire friendship with Ling into a single evening outing? By giving himself time to tie it up, he’s admitted that there  _ are _ things that need tying up—unspoken words, unanswered question marks. What, now that he has the opportunity, is he supposed to spill out all the things he never told Ling but felt (vaguely, in some abstract sense) that he should? From  _ I once charged you double for food out of spite _ to  _ I love the way you smile, even though I’d never admit it in a million years _ ?

That night, he dreams up ways the encounter could go. Maybe they sit together and reminisce. Maybe they don’t talk much at all, just bask in each other’s company until the awkward silence eats them alive. Maybe they end up closer than they’ve ever been before. Maybe, somehow (magically—for this is a fantasy, not a projection of what he thinks would ever take place), Ling will be able to tell exactly what he wants without him having to say a word. That would be incredible, Ed thinks. Alchemists should really get on that—inventing telepathy. It’d save him a hell of a lot of trouble.

Of course, imagining too many outcomes just makes him utterly unprepared for the minute when Ling (in real life, in the flesh) meets him outside the hospital, right when the blue of the sky is fading into orange. He’s in a bright yellow loose-fitting shirt and baggy pants, reminiscent of his outfit when Ed first met him. It makes Ed feel a little nostalgic.

“Soooo,” he begins, looking everywhere but his companion’s eyes, “you wanna… walk around a bit, or what?”

“Sure!”

“You’ve, uh, had dinner, haven’t you?” Because taking Ling to go eat something is not an ordeal he feels like sitting through.

Ling laughs. “Yep. But I’m not opposed to a second dinner, if you…”

“No! No, I’ve eaten too. We’re all good.”

Plus, going to dinner would feel too much like a date, and that is  _ not _ the kind of energy Ed’s trying to bring to this whole thing. Well. That is to say—he’s not going to force anything. If it gets there naturally, then… he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

They start down the street. Ed hasn’t been out of the hospital much, so it strikes him just how many people there are, going about the same things as they always do. Going through their lives. Never mind that the apocalypse almost happened a couple days ago. The tendency towards routine is a strong one.

He pulls Ling down an alley shortcut and into one of Central’s quieter residential neighborhoods. The houses are too clustered together for Ed’s liking—what an awful place for a kid to grow up. No space at all. But at least there are fewer people around. At least they can have a little more privacy.

“Uh, Ling.”

“Mmm?”

He has to start somewhere. “You’re still gonna be the emperor, right?”

“Yeah, probably. Unless the whole philosopher’s stone thing doesn’t work out.”

Ed finds himself with a sudden, unprecedented feeling that he really, really hopes it doesn’t. It’s absurd, of course, and he shakes away the thought as soon as it enters his mind. Instead, he says, “That’s gonna be a huge change, huh.”

“Absolutely.”

“You sure you’re okay with that?”

“I mean, in some ways it doesn’t really matter how okay with it I am.”

“What??” Ed sputters. “You—that’s—isn’t that the most important thing?? Hasn’t this been your goal since forever? Isn’t  _ you being okay with it _ the whole point?”

“Well, yes and yes. I do want it. Quite badly. But that’s sort of what I’m trying to say. In some ways, I want it despite my better judgement.” He smiles. “Do you think I’d make a good leader, Ed?”

“You were a pretty shitty leader when we were with Darius and Heinkel,” says Ed immediately.

“Come on! That was Greed!”

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

“No, but, actually. I want to know what you’d think of me as an emperor.”

Ed puts his hand to his chin. “You’d just abuse your power to get free food all the time. Oh, and I bet you’d get a harem or some shit.”

“Ed!! I’m gay!”

“Harem of boys, then.”

“ _ Harem _ necessarily implies women, you know. Do you really think I’m that lascivious?”

“I dunno,” says Ed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “It’s what Greed would do.”

“I’m not Greed!”

“You said he rubbed off on you.”

“Not in  _ that _ way.” He chuckles, then looks down at his feet, shaking his head. “Honestly, I was kind of looking forward to showing him around Xing. Too bad he won’t get to see all that. Being emperors together would’ve been fun. At least in theory.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as the two of them contemplate that. A tinge of grief runs through Ling’s words. Ed doesn’t think he can imagine what it must feel like, to have something—someone—torn out of you like that. He doesn’t dare ask.

They turn onto a different street. The houses are taller here, with bigger lawns, more trees. A couple people pass in the opposite direction; one or two do double takes as they notice Ed.

“I’ve been trying not to be so sad about it,” Ling continues.

“What? Why?”

“Well, isn’t getting rid of my greed a good thing?”

Ed thinks of Father. He considers the act of casting off an emotion. He scoffs. “Like you ever could be rid of all his influence. You’re just a greedy bastard at heart!”

Ling laughs. “Yeah, that’s the conclusion I’ve been coming to as well. Plus... he was a person. And he was my friend. And I think that’s more important than anything.”

He looks off into the distance, no longer smiling. The sun is beginning to set properly now—the sky is a gradient of blue to green to yellow, vanishing into the cityscape horizon.

“Sorry,” says Ling. “I shouldn’t go off about Greed when you’re right here. Um… what were we talking about?”

“Emperor things?”

“Right. Um… yeah.” He crosses his arms, looking up into the sky. “Yeah, I want to be the emperor. I know it’s not gonna be easy, and at times I know I’m definitely going to hate it, but as long as I have a chance to make everything right for my country, it’s all gonna be worth it.”

“Ha, you’ll be great at that. Saving Amestris was basically like a trial run for that, huh?”

“No, no,  _ you’re _ the one who saved Amestris.” Ling pats him on the shoulder, which is in equal parts humiliating and comforting. Ed tenses up. “I’m never going to be as good at country-saving as you.”

Ed blushes and murmurs something about, well, it wasn’t  _ all _ him; he couldn’t count the number of people who made their victory possible—but Ling’s just laughing now, in a way that makes Ed kind of want to punch him and kind of want to kiss him. He slides his hand off Ed’s shoulder, down his arm, and grasps his hand softly, interlacing their fingers.

Even if it  _ hadn’t _ been his right arm—the one that’s now hyper-sensitive to any touch, re-learning how to be part of a human being—Ed would have frozen. Now, the gesture makes him practically short-circuit. First Ling going out of his way to compliment him, now holding his hand? In  _ public? _ (Er, semi-public—there’s barely a soul in sight, but Ed’s still on edge.)

Ling stops as well. “Oh, did you not want—”

“No,” replies Ed too quickly. “No, it’s—fine. Let’s, um, let’s keep going.” And he sets off again, fully aware of how the blush has spread across his face.

So  _ there’s _ a can of worms that Ling’s just opened. If this is really their last night together, should they be seeking more closure for this sort of thing? Will Ed live to regret it if he keeps his stubborn mouth shut and refuses to acknowledge that he’s wanted to hold Ling’s hand for  _ months _ but never let himself show any trace of that desire?

No, he can’t let the night go like this. He can’t ruin the moment with his embarrassment and second-guessing. Think, Ed! What’s a conversation topic? Pull up one of your fantasies and improv something out of it!

But he looks over at Ling to see his face caught in the lamplight, illuminating all its smooth curves, throwing spiky shadows across his cheeks from the way his bangs stick out. He’s got this faint smile, and the same casual spring in his step as the first time Ed met him, except this time Ed thinks he likes it.

“Remember when we ate my shoe?” he says, which is a hell of a way to start a conversation. Possible follow-ups circle around in his head:  _ and we thought we were going to die together, and I hauled your ass through an ocean of blood because I refused to let you give up, and I think that was the first time I realized I cared about you. _

“It feels like so long ago!”

“That’s because it was, dumbass!”

“Not  _ that _ long ago. I keep forgetting we haven’t known each other for years.”

“Yeah, I think we did like years worth of bonding in there.”

“In where? In Gluttony’s stomach?”

Ed shivers. “Yeah. Felt like years, too.”

“Mm.” He squeezes Ed’s hand suddenly, leaning a little closer to him. “Hey, thanks for not letting me die.”

“Hey, I would’ve done the same for anyone. I think I would’ve gone crazy if I was stuck there alone.”

“Me too.”

Silence for another half a block. Ed thinks he could get used to this hand-holding thing. Ling’s hand is warm and callused against his own smooth, unblemished skin. It makes the two of them feel connected, and yet also serves to highlight the ephemerality of that connection. It would be too easy to separate them. By the end of the night, they  _ will _ be separate. It’s just a matter of time.

“Hey, Ling?”

“Yeah?”

Ed stalls for a moment too long, trying to think of something  _ other _ than what has popped into his head at the moment. Fuck, he’s already been way too emotionally honest tonight. He probably needs to offset that with more silly reminiscence or stupid insults or… something.

“I can’t believe everything’s going to change,” is what he ends up saying, which is more or less what he’d intended.

Ling nods. “Your adventures are over, and mine are just beginning, huh?”

“Hey! We’re both gonna have adventures! Just… different ones!”

“I’ll tell you all about mine.”

“You will?”

“Of course. I’ll write to you as much as I can.”

“Oh,” says Ed. It feels like such a lonely prospect. He’s no good at letters. But he can try, for Ling’s sake.

(Or maybe the loneliest prospect of all is the fact that Ling will be busy as an emperor, and Ed can picture their correspondence waning, becoming more distant and more formal and more infrequent until they address each other like strangers, and all the trials and tribulations of the past are glazed over with time.)

“I,” he says. “I’m… I’ll miss you.”

There we go. He said it. He said it and he can’t take it back, and he meets Ling’s gaze as he glances over at him, then back at the darkening street.

“I’ll miss you too.”

“You’d better not forget about me or anything.”

“How could I! You’re unforgettable!”

He smirks. “Good! I get that a lot, being the youngest State Alchemist and all.” Then: “Fuck. I forgot I’m not an alchemist anymore.”

“There’s another hard change, huh.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I don’t regret it, though.”

“You know, I  _ did _ offer you my philoso—”

_ “Nope. _ That was never gonna happen. Um, thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” Ling laughs. “You’re gonna have to learn to be a normal person now.”

Ed kicks a pebble lying in the middle of the sidewalk. It skitters into the street and clatters down an open drain with a couple metallic  _ pings. _ “You know what? Fuck it. I’ve  _ earned _ that. I get to be a normal person. That’s pretty sweet. Free from being a dog of the military! I feel GREAT!”

“Having no responsibilities is the best.”

“Yeah.” He gives his friend a smug grin. “Better enjoy it while it lasts! Being an emperor is, like, the job with the most responsibilities ever.”

“True. I… I just hope I’m ready for it.”

Ed isn’t sure whether or not to be honest here. He can’t bring himself to say either option:  _ yes, of course you’re ready, _ or  _ I don’t know if you’re so ready after all.  _ But then again—Ling’s gonna go and fulfill his dreams no matter what he says. So he decides not to directly respond. “Well, the good thing about being emperor is that you can throw a bunch of stress-relief parties.”

“Is that a real thing?”

“It should be.”

“You’re right. I’ll make it a thing.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I’ll invite you to all of them.”

“Like I’m gonna cross the entire desert to come to a party.”

“I think you would,” sings Ling, and nuzzles his cheek against the top of Ed’s head. “You’d do it for  _ meee, _ wouldn’t you?”

Ed goes bright red. “Hey, you’ve never had an automail in scalding heat!”

“But you’ve only got one automail to deal with now, so it should be easier, right?”

“Unfortunately, that’s the one I use for walking!”

“You don’t have to walk. You could get a horse or something!”

“Like a horse is gonna survive in the fucking desert!”

Ling tilts his head. “You’d be surprised! Horses are pretty resilient.”

“Also,” mutters Ed, “I hate horses.”

“What! What has a horse ever done to you!”

“Listen. Alchemy dictates that humans—and many other creatures—are made up of a body, mind, and soul. Horses don’t have souls.”

“Is this an alchemy fact?” asks Ling, barely suppressing his giggles.

“No, it’s an Edward Elric fact.”

“Do you have any other fun Edward Elric facts you’d care to tell me?”

“Um. Not off the top of my head.”

“Come on.”

“Nope.”

Ling pulls his hand away from Ed and clasps his hands together under his chin, giving Ed one of his signature bright, wide grins. “It can be anything—!”

Great, and now Ling’s just handed him the opportunity of the night on a golden fucking platter. Confess anything at all to your friend who’ll be gone in the morning. It won’t matter in a couple hours. Get it out in the air now, before the inches of air between you become miles and miles.

“I,” says Ed. His mind has gone blank. Ling’s probably expecting something silly, something trivial, but suddenly he can’t  _ think _ of anything that would carry the tone of the banter that had been so easy just a moment before. Dammit, why can’t he get this right? Why does he keep ruining it?

When Ling takes his hand again, he feels something jostle inside of him.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Ed whispers, in this pathetically small voice.

“That’s a pretty lame fun fact,” says Ling, nonchalant despite the way that Ed feels his fingers tense, his pace slow.

“It’s not a fun fact! It’s true.”

Ling doesn’t respond for a second. The two of them are heading towards a park, Ed realizes—one on the outskirts of Central. Maybe it’ll be nice to lose himself in the trees. And they’ll almost certainly be the only ones there. Having a whole park to themselves… how daunting.

“Sorry,” Ed murmurs.

“You know…” Ling stares straight ahead, eyes creased and head tilted upwards. “I had to make Lan Fan decide for me. A date to leave, that is. Because I knew that if I didn’t, I’d just lapse back into this… procrastination, I guess. Ha, it feels so weird to say that. It’s not like I’m stalling. I know what I want, and I’m going to get it. But it’s strange, that some part of me wants to idle here forever. I’m not really sure what to make of it.”

The park looms before them now, huge and empty. It’s a stretch of grass surrounded by trees, and as Ed and Ling make their way into the central area, it feels like they’re enclosed in their own private world. Light is rapidly fading from the sky—and there are no streetlamps here, nothing to replace it.

Ed pulls himself out of Ling’s grasp and sits cross-legged in the grass below one particularly large tree. He’s not sure what type—somehow, he’s never been good with plants—but it still has its leaves, despite the season. His right hand toys aimlessly with the grass beside him, pulling up little clumps and picking them apart.

What he absolutely does not expect is for Ling to sit down in front of him and lie backwards, laying his head in Ed’s lap.

Ed goes as still as a statue, the grass clump dropping from his fingers. Ling adjusts his position a little, then smiles upward as if this is the most normal thing in the world. One of his hands comes up to caress Ed’s knee.

“Wanna hear a Ling Yao fun fact?” he asks.

“Um, sure.”

Ling’s grin could put all the lamplights in the city to shame, Ed thinks.

“I think I’m a little in love with you,” says Ling.

“Fuck,” says Ed, instead of registering the way his heart jumps and kicks into overdrive, instead of replying with the first thing that comes to mind, which is  _ and I think I’m a lot in love with you. _ “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not fair.” His breath is too shallow, throat too tight. “You can’t say that and then just leave.”

“I don’t know if I would’ve realized it if I hadn’t been about to leave.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, let’s be real, I’ve had a bit of a crush on you since about ten minutes after we met. That was pretty obvious to pretty much everyone. But… I don’t know!” His wandering hand finds Ed’s again, squeezing it tight. “None of these words really mean anything. I just wanted to tell you that.”

Ed’s been robbed of speech again. All he can do is gape at the boy in his lap, incoherent thoughts rushing through his head like a tidal wave. Inexplicably, anger is what comes to the forefront of his mind. Ling could’ve just kept his damn mouth shut. But now Ed’s seen the glimpse of a world in which his friend loves him back just as much as he loves his friend—and losing that is going to be a hell of a lot harder when it’s barely been explored.

“Uhh,” he tries. His left hand slides over, hovering just beside Ling’s face. Experimentally, he brushes Ling’s bangs out of his eyes. The smile that Ling gives him makes his stomach turn upside down.

“You don’t have to talk, you know.”

“No—I—Ling, you—” He snatches his hands away and presses his palms to his temple. “You realize how difficult you’ve made this, right? We—even if—even if we wanted to, we couldn’t… we can’t be…  _ together, _ or whatever it is you want.”

“We don’t have to be  _ together. _ We don’t have to do anything at all. But I thought you’d want to know.”

“I… did want to know,” Ed admits, dropping his hands back in his lap.

Ling pulls himself up suddenly. He straightens his shirt, then plops down right in front of Ed, still wearing that smile that could only really be described as  _ cozy. _ It’s awfully cute. Ed doesn’t think he can look away. Plenty more complaints rise to his lips—all versions of what he’s already articulated—but they all seem to die, one by one, as he takes in the full weight of his companion’s gaze.

Ling hesitates, as if rolling around the words in his mouth. Then he leans forward, head in his hands, cheeks just the faintest touch of pink. His slow grin is almost dreamy. “You don’t even know how badly I want to kiss you right now.”

Ed really does not know what to say to that either.

His expression must be answer enough, because Ling laughs and says, “What? I’m very good at knowing what I want. It’s one of my worst traits. Or best, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, don’t you think a goodbye kiss would be... poetic?”

“Is this goodbye, then?”

“I think goodbye is whenever we want it to be.”

Ed does not want it to be  _ ever. _ He could sit here with Ling late into the night until there’s no longer any light by which to see each other, talk until they’ve worn themselves out, kiss him and kiss him because there’s another possibility Ling’s opened up for the two of them. And now Ed is actively thinking about it, and he didn’t  _ want _ to be reminded of all the times he’s wondered what his friend’s mouth tastes like, but—

“Doesn’t it defeat the purpose of a goodbye kiss if it’s not at the very last minute?”

“Well,” says Ling, wetting his lips, “I don’t see why there has to be just one.”

Could he have predicted this? Of course, similar scenarios have frequented his daydreams for some time, but to be staring one in the face—the kind, determined face of Ling Yao—he’s not sure if he’s still living in reality.

Ling waves a hand in front of his face, and Ed starts. “So! Do you wanna kiss me? Get as close as we possibly can before I’ve gotta go far, far away?”

“Fuck,” says Ed, yet again, which is just a really great reaction to any and all affectionate advances. “Y-yes—god— _ yes, _ I do.”

Before he can think twice about it, he pushes himself up onto his knees, takes Ling’s face in both hands, and presses their lips together. And—wow, he sure underestimated how warm Ling’s mouth would be. But now all he wants to do is soak up that heat and carry it with him through the chilly night. The whole thing’s a bit sloppy, a bit rushed, and  _ god _ are Ed’s hands shaking like he’s in the middle of a snowstorm. But Ling’s arms wind around his back and pull him in closer. And he kisses him back just as passionately.

Ed’s been leaning too far forward; his knees can’t take this for much longer. On an impulse, he shifts back, then maneuvers himself into Ling’s lap, slinging his legs around his waist. Oh, now they are  _ much _ closer—close enough to share each other’s warmth, close enough to feel the way their heartbeats thunder. Ling makes a small  _ mph! _ of surprise and delight. His hands move upwards, cupping the back of Ed’s head, fingering his braid.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to see you with your hair down,” Ling whispers, his breath palpable on Ed’s lips.

“What, you haven’t already?”

“I don’t think so. Greed might’ve. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Mmm. Well, only if you put your hair down too.”

“Deal,” says Ling, gives him another peck on the lips, and gets to work on undoing his braid. When it’s all loose, Ed shakes his head around, feeling the weight of his hair as it bounces around his shoulders. Ling’s fingers brush through it.

“Cute,” he laughs.

It strikes Ed suddenly just how  _ used _ to this he’s gotten. In the span of what, two minutes? Kiss a guy once and now you’ll let him do practically anything. Is he really so touch-starved that all his inhibitions evaporated that quickly?

It’s probably all for the best. It’s not like he’s getting a chance like this again anytime soon.

“Yeah, well, I bet you’ll look just as cute with  _ your _ hair down!” Ed grumbles, trying and failing to shift the tone back to that of their usual back-and-forth.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“Mm. I guess not.”

“Just as well I’m gonna prove you right, then.”

Ling raises one hand out of Ed’s hair and tugs the bow from his own ponytail. His hair is thick and silky, flowing like ribbons of black water down his back. It gives him a new sort of feel—he looks younger, maybe. The straightness of it is a strange contrast to the way his incorrigible bangs still stick out. Ed is transfixed.

“Aw, come on,” continues Ling with a bashful smile. “It’s just my hair.”

But it’s clear he’s enjoying the attention. Especially as one strand falls into his face, and Ed, almost on instinct, tucks it behind his ear. Right now, he thinks, he’d be content to just gaze at Ling forever. Gather up as much as his essence as possible, memorize each line and shape and color and texture like an artist studying his muse.

Ed blinks. “This is stupid,” he mutters, more in response to his own internal monologue than anything. It is frankly a little embarrassing how gay he is for his friend.

“But it’s fun too!”

“Yeah. It is.”

Ling rests his hands back at the sides of Ed’s neck, dipping his fingertips into his hair. His right thumb travels the length of Ed’s jaw, a touch so light it makes Ed’s heart flutter. “Can I kiss you some more?”

Ed obliges, of course. He grabs Ling’s shirt collar and pulls him back towards him and kisses him as hard as he can, because if he’s only got a few hours to express the full breadth of his feelings, then he’s sure as hell going to make it count. He wants to burn the memory into his brain, so deeply and so intricately that in the future he’ll be able to call up the sensation of Ling’s lips and his sweet-salty taste and the touch of his warm, strong fingers on cue. Maybe in the future the memory of this night will have curdled into a lump of embarrassment, but at least it will have been  _ real. _ Better to be embarrassed by an action than by a mere thought.

And Ling seems just as desperate. His fingers curl into the fabric at the back of Ed’s shirt, way too tight, clutching onto him for dear life. Ed’s head is still spinning from the notion that someone could want him this much—especially after all the twists and turns in their relationship, after all that Ed has said and done and all the mistakes he’s made and all the people who’ve suffered from his ignorance or his hubris. And then, of course, the astounding fact that he actually overcame the dozens of mental hurdles and now he’s making out with his friend in a park and he  _ really, really likes it. _

They lay together on the grass after that, a couple feet apart. If it weren’t for their interlocked hands, it would’ve been an exact replica of the moment when they’d thrown themselves, starved and panting, onto a huge slab of stone in the middle of a sea of blood.

“You’re a good kisser, Ling,” murmurs Ed, after significant hesitation.

Ling grins. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

And he’s not likely to get another kiss like that for a long, long time. His face is still burning; he feels like he’s in a sort of dazed stupor, replaying the last few minutes again and again in his head.

“What do we do now?” he says.

“I don’t know. When do you have to be back?”

“I think I said 10 or something.” He sighs, eyes tracing the tree branches that hang over him. “Usually I wouldn’t give a damn about the curfew, but I don’t really want to worry the doctors.”

“I almost forgot you were still recovering.”

“I’m fine. Nothing hurts anymore. It’s just—” He holds up his left hand, showing off the fresh scars from the recent puncture wound. It’s not the best example—his other injuries are more in need of check-ups, not to mention all the physical therapy to get his new arm back into shape. “I don’t really  _ need _ to be staying in the hospital full-time. I just want to be there for Al.”

“I understand. That’s important.”

“Mmm.”

It’s dark enough now for the stars to be visible. Ed thinks he remembers some of their names—he could probably pick out constellations, if only the wispy clouds didn’t blot out swaths of the night sky.

“Did I ever thank you properly,” says Ling, “for saving me all those times?”

“What? Um, maybe?”

“It’s kind of funny. I would’ve died of hunger if you hadn’t been there.”

“You don’t think Lan Fan and Fu would’ve found you?”

He shrugs. “Eh, probably. It just feels appropriate to give you the credit right now. I’m genuinely very grateful.”

“If you were really grateful, you’d pay me back for all that food!”

“Ed!” Ling cries, adorably crestfallen. “I thought we were having a moment!”

“You’d better pay me back when you become emperor.”

“Oh, sure thing.”

“You won’t forget?”

“Put it in one of your letters. I won’t forget then!” Ling rolls onto his stomach and kicks his feet up in the air, resting his chin in his hands. “Ooh, don’t you think the letters will be fun, Ed? I’ll write you really long ones, I promise. Soon enough you’ll be an expert in the internal affairs of the Xing government.”

Ed groans. “Please. I just escaped one governmental regime; I’m not ready for a bunch more of that bullshit jargon.”

“Fine, fine. What do you  _ want _ me to write to you about?”

“I… dunno. How you’re doing, I guess. Anything.” Just hearing from him at all would be enough.

“Trust me, they’ll be the most beautiful things you’ve ever read. Hey, I can even sign them ‘love, Ling’—I’ll dot the ‘i’ with a heart and all that. Would you like that?”

“No.”

“I think I’ll do it anyway.”

“Of course you would.”

Ling giggles. He scoots closer and tangles his fingers back into Ed’s hair. “Maybe I’ll get into writing love poetry. Isn’t that what people do when they like someone in another country?”

Ed covers his face with his hands, unable to hide his blush. Having a boy play with his hair and tell him he’ll write him love poems is exactly the kind of sappy romantic bullshit he would have made fun of six months ago. Now, as much as he hates to admit it, he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Do you, uh, write a lot of poetry?” he asks, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Nope! I’ve never written a poem in my life!”

Ed has a sudden, vivid mental image of a scene a couple months from now. He and Alphonse are back in Resembool with Winry and Pinako, basking in the light of their newfound freedom. Suddenly, the postman arrives with a bright yellow envelope. (Do they have envelopes in Xing? Whatever, irrelevant to this daydream.) “Edward Elric” is written on it in scratchy cursive, surrounded by little hearts. Winry, unfortunately, is the one to intercept it, and, being the snoop that she is (Ed remembers with disdain the time she pried open his watch), opens the letter and reads aloud Ling’s godawful amateur attempts at poetry. Ed dies on the spot. They bury him next to Van Hohenheim. News spreads to Xing, and Ling bursts into tears upon hearing it. He swears to pay Al back double for all the meals he mooched off his dearly departed brother. Serves him right.

“Well,” says Ed with a grin, crumpling up the overly-detailed fantasy and shoving it into the wastepaper basket of his brain, “I’m looking forward to seeing you try!”

Ling laughs. His fingers still softly comb through Ed’s hair. “Hey, what will you write to me about?”

“Um, I don’t know. Life in Resembool. I’ll probably go traveling a lot. I could send you postcards.”

“Aw, I’d love that.”

“Don’t think I’m cut out for poetry, though.”

“You could give it a try!”

“No, it’d be terrible.”

“You don’t know that until you’ve tried it.”

Ed pointedly does not mention his ridiculous attempts at emo poetry a couple years ago. God, just thinking about it makes him cringe. “We’ll see,” he mumbles.

“I look forward to it.”

A hush falls over the two of them. More clouds have drifted into Ed’s field of vision, swallowing up about half of the remaining stars. He turns his head to the right, watching as Ling braids little strands of his hair. It’s pretty dark by now, but his vision has adjusted, and he can still make out his friend’s smiling face.

Ling catches Ed looking at him, and they make eye contact.

What can Ed say now? Grasp at straws, think up new ways to keep the conversation moving and delay their inevitable journey back to the hospital? Has he gotten everything out that he wanted to? Maybe so, but still—this is the time they have together. Maybe if he continues to fill it with words, he can lose himself in them. Or maybe they’ll just serve as a reminder of his desperation.

“Are you cold?” asks Ling, folding his hands in front of him.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to be a bit warmer anyway?”

“Like how?”

Ling drapes one arm over Ed’s torso and pulls himself up so his head is resting in the crook of his neck. His breath is hot and close. Ed groans as a twinge of pain rockets through his shoulder.

“Ah, I had surgery there the other day; could you maybe—”

“Oh, yes, right.” He presses his face into Ed’s chest instead, shifting his position so none of his weight is on any injury. Ed places his hands on Ling’s head, feeling the smoothness of his hair, the way he rises up and down with Ed’s slow breaths.

And they stay like that for a little while.

Maybe they’ve talked too much. Said as much as they can say for now. Maybe the quiet is more valuable.

Ed keeps thinking about the morning. He and Al and all the rest will go down to give Ling and Mei and Lan Fan their official farewell—and that’ll be the final piece of it all, yes, but this moment here is what feels like the true goodbye. Even if it’s all laced with the worry of  _ is this enough? Is this good enough? Will this be enough to tide us over until the next time we see each other? _

They could go to sleep here and leave themselves to be discovered by confused park-goers in the morning. Sounds like a fun time, if only Ed weren’t certain that sleeping on the ground would only make his recovering injuries feel worse. Plus—wouldn’t that sort of ruin the whole point of a goodbye? Stretching it out would make it feel insincere.

So, eventually, Ed carefully pushes Ling off him and sits up. He feels stiff all over, like he really  _ has _ been napping, and he makes sure to stretch as he stands. He searches around for his discarded hair tie, and redoes his braid as Ling pulls his own hair back into its usual ponytail.

Ling’s hand finds his again in the darkness, and they make their way back where they had come from, back into the world of streetlamps and houses, now perfectly quiet.

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back to Xing?” asks Ed quietly.

“Hmm. Probably eat a bunch of noodles. I’ve really missed the way they do them there.”

“You mean, pass out until Lan Fan shoves noodles down your throat.”

He laughs. “Yep! That’s exactly what will happen.”

“Are you looking forward to being back in your own house?”

“Absolutely. It’s huge! You should visit someday. There are like five guest rooms.”

Ed thinks that he’d rather be with Ling in  _ his _ bedroom. But he doesn’t say that. He nods. “Lots of space is great.”

“I also have this really big… pool thing? We could swim together.”

“Sounds fun.”

“And I’ll get an even bigger house when I become the emperor! So there’s something to look forward to. The imperial palace is beautiful.”

“Cool,” says Ed, and it is, really, but he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach—the sadness that arises when Ling talks about the future. God, he just needs to get over himself. “I’ll visit as soon as I can. As soon as I’ve… adjusted, and stuff. When I’m ready to travel again.”

“I won’t rush you. But I’m looking forward to it.”

It feels like so far in the future. They’ll both be different people by then. But maybe that’s a good thing.

Ed takes them back the long way round, weaving through the streets of the neighborhood. He could probably just walk around in circles if he wanted. Ling wouldn’t mind. But it would be dishonest. They’ve finally come to an ending; he can’t delay it.

The street outside the hospital is deserted. The streetlamps here are bright and yellowy; they go perfectly with Ling’s shirt. Moths cluster around the most prominent lights, appearing as little flitting specks.

“Okay,” says Ed. He lets out a breath, forcing himself to release the tension in his shoulders. “Um. Thanks, Ling. This was fun.”

Ling smiles. He grasps both of Ed’s hands in both of his own and brings them up to chest-height, squeezing his fingers tight. “I never would’ve guessed the trajectory of our friendship would be anything like this. But I’m so very glad it happened.”

He pulls Ed close and gives him a gentle kiss. Ed pushes up onto the tips of his toes, keeping the contact for as long as possible. Here’s their proper goodbye kiss—nice and slow and sentimental.

Ling cups Ed’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead, then pulls away, laying his hands on his shoulders. His head is silhouetted against the lamplight, making each strand of his messy bangs stand out. Cute, Ed thinks.

Well. There’s no need to stretch this out longer than it has to be. They’ve already stretched it half to death, honestly. Ed steps away, tucking his hands behind his back. “So… bye, then. Thanks for everything.”

“Goodbye!” sings Ling, and his tone is so characteristically bright and cheery that it can’t help but make Ed smile. “See you soon!”

“I’ll write to you!” calls Ed.

Ling walks backwards, waving and waving and waving.

And Ed is about to go back inside, back through the doors of the hospital and out of the chilly night, when a sudden thought comes crashing over his brain. Fuck, he  _ did _ forget something after all. One last confession.

“Ling!!” he yells at his friend’s retreating back, and Ling turns around, twenty feet away. “I love you too!”

“I know!” Ling chirps, with this wonderful, cheesy, cheeky grin, and wanders away into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based on a dream i had - and just the general sentiment of wanting to hang out with someone one more time before going your separate ways :')  
> definitely something i've experienced recently as summer comes to an end!


End file.
